


Ten Sessions

by Kasuchi



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you just set people in motion they'll heal themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Sessions

**Author's Note:**

> Tissue warning! Spoilers for the whole movie, obviously.

**1.**

"Do you know why you're here?"

Uhura nodded, hands clasped in her lap. Her feet were flat on the floor, back ramrod straight, and eyes forward, clear, and focused. "The Enterprise crew has been placed on psych rotation for the next month while repairs are made to the ship." She takes a slow breath, a slight rattle to it. Her clasped hands shake a little. "Starfleet is...worried about this year's graduating class."

The academy counselor nodded, pen and paper set aside. She would not take notes until after the session. Uhura was both grateful and annoyed by this; the sound of the pen scratching against paper would be better than all this silence.

"It's been quiet lately," the doctor added, turning her eyes away from her patient. The window of her office - large, floor-to-ceiling with sunshades - looked out on to the bay, the bridge framed neatly in the pane. It was picturesque. Uhura wanted to throw a shoe through it.

"Too quiet," Uhura returned, voice clipped, efficient.

The doctor stared out the window for a few moments longer. "Yes," she replied, and then turned her attention back to Uhura, whose posture hadn't relaxed the slightest. "Yes, it's too quiet."

**2.**

"I don't need therapy."

The counselor eyed him over the edge of her pad with a raised eyebrow. "Doctor McCoy, you really believe that?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, looming over her in his academy reds. "Honey, I am a doctor. Not a psychopath, not a frail child, not a civilian." He uncrossed his arms and massaged one hand. "I have seen life and death and everything in between. So, no, I do not need therapy."

"You sound like you need to be committed."

"Tried that once. They call it marriage in standard English, last I checked."

"Different kind of commitment, Doctor."

"You sound like Nurse Chapel," he muttered, and sat down suddenly on the chair.

"I should. She was my roommate for two years."

"I should have guessed."

"But you didn't." She set the pad of paper and the pen aside and leaned forward, elbows on her knees and chin propped up on her hands. (She was suddenly very glad she didn't wear the v-neck sweater that she had contemplated that morning.) "So, Doctor."

"Yes, Doctor?" he replies, half sarcastic and eyebrow arched.

"You've seen life and death and everything in between, right?"

"Yes..."

"What did you see on The Enterprise?"

**3.**

There was a sharp, measured knock at her door. "Come in," she called, crossing a few t's and dotting her i's.

Commander Spock entered, all controlled movements and lanky frame, dressed in professor grays. "I believe we have an appointment, Doctor."

She nodded - she has prepared for this, read up on what she could find on Vulcan psychology, little research as there is - and gestured for him to sit. The door clicked shut behind him, and he settled, stiff-postured, into the soft chair across from her.

They observed each other for a few moments, the only sound the hum of the ventilation system. Spock tilted his head to the side slightly, and she let out a breath. "I'm not really sure where to start. There's very little research into Vulcan psychology."

"I'm not surprised. Vulcans are a very...private people." Spock's expression didn't shift, but she got the impression that if he were human, he would appear thoughtful. "Our emotions run deep, deeper than humans. Logic offers us serenity, control."

She nodded slowly, hands folded in her lap. "I see. And I can understand." She flashed him a ghost of a smile. "I chose psychology because I wanted to understand. It left me with more questions than answers."

He dipped his chin slightly, posture still straight. Her shoulders ached in sympathy pangs. "The same drive is present in my people. It is why we have--" He paused, sharply. " _Had_ the Science Academy."

Her instincts wanted to jump all over that, but she beat them down forcefully. "I see," she returned neutrally, fingers pressing slightly into the arms of her chair. "Well, Commander, this is your time as much as mine. Is there anything in particular you would like to talk about?"

A human would be trying to compose himself. Spock's face was carefully, unfathomably blank. He didn't speak for a long time.

"Chess," he said at last. "Would you like to play chess?"

**4.**

"Pavel Chekov. 17. From Russia."

Chekov nodded, his eyes large in his face and command jersey a little too long. Doctor Sweetseed smiled at him and gestured for him to sit in the chair.

He eased himself down and looked at her, large eyes peering at her intently. "You are the psychologist, yes?"

She nodded. "Doctor Sweetseed. Or, Laura, if you prefer."

"We are supposed to tell you about our experience on The Enterprise," he added, Russian accent thickening as he spoke. She nodded silently, fingers loose around the pen in her hand.

"I lost her," he said quietly, and repeated it to himself over and over, a mantra.

It was all she could do to not reach out and pull him into a hug.

**5.**

"Lass, I missed most of the excitement sitting in Delta Vega."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Scott, you still have to report for therapy." She quirked an eyebrow up. "Perhaps we could focus on your experience on Delta Vega."

Scotty shook his head. "Dinnah fash yeself. I've got sandwiches and pasta and roast ham and..."

He spent the rest of the hour detailing for her the meals he had eaten in the past week.

**6.**

"You're from the Bay Area, Mr. Sulu?"

Hikaru Sulu glanced back at her, startled. "Uh, yeah. Born and raised." He cleared his throat. "My family is Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and even a little Vietnamese and Thai. Mom and Dad used to joke that we were like a pan-Asian restaurant, a different noodle dish for every branch of the family." He shrugged loosely. "My great-grandparents were Nisei." He smiled wryly at her. "But I'm about as American as Captain Kirk at this point."

"I saw you admiring the view."

"It's a great image, isn't it?" He glanced back out the window. "Growing up, I'd tell my parents that I'd climb the bridge with my bare hands. I'd be Son Goku, without the tail or the nimbus."

"Did you?"

He shook his head. "I ended up spacediving instead."

"Do you still want to?"

"Spacedive?"

"Climb the bridge."

He didn't say anything for a while. "One of the guys in my club - the European Swordsmanship Club - said she thought the drill was going to fall on the bridge when Commander Spock shot it down." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

The pen stopped scratching against the page.

"Maybe I should," he said at last. "I've been putting it off for a while."

**7.**

"What happened?"

Gaila had dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping. Her hair had been cut short - "The ends caught on fire," she replied succinctly two sessions ago - and her normally vibrant skin tone looked matte and dark.

"Where should I start?"

"From the beginning," Doctor Sweetseed supplied gently, voice soft and eyes kind.

Gaila took a breath and recited, voice matter-of-fact. Every consonant sounded razor-edged. "We dropped out of warp and saw a ship like one we'd never seen before, huge and monstrous. We were hit before we could react. The Chief Engineer ordered us to get to emergency transport after the first wave. The captain ordered the same." She swallowed, eyes focused on her hands. "There was fire, and bare wires sparking. I don't remember much. I barely remember getting into the emergency transport." She huffed a mirthless laugh. "It was like being on the refugee ship all over again, only this time I got to watch as my ship blew up." She paused, curls quivering around her face. "7% of the crew survived. Second highest only to the Enterprise."

Later, after Gaila had left, Laura would lock her office and stand at the window, wishing desperately for scotch.

**8.**

"I don't remember much," Admiral Pike admitted, hands ghosting over the hoverchair control panel.

"Perhaps that's for the best," she replied, and tried to forget how her hands had shook when she'd read the situation report.

"Your professional opinion?"

"Sometimes talking about it isn't the answer."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Sometimes it has to."

**9.**

"You're Head Nurse, now?"

She nodded. "And you're assigned to the main crew?"

A smile skittered across her features. "I wish it were under better circumstances, but yes."

"Believe me, I understand."

"Christine, I--"

"It was chaos." Christine's blue eyes met Laura's, unwavering and brazen. "Chaos. I must have worked three shifts, not counting the slow journey back."

"How did you do it?"

"A nurse's job is to support the doctors. The Head Nurse is whatever the CMO needs her to be." She swallowed. "I was there. That was enough."

Laura was silent for a long moment. "Have you been drinking?"

Christine's lips thinned into a line. "Not as much as I used to."

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Drugged," Christine replied, and laughed. If there was a touch of hysteria there, Laura ignored it. Now was not the time.

**10.**

Captain Kirk, she noted, toying with her pen idly, doesn't like to sit still.

His hands flexed and relaxed on his knees, on the arms of the chair. His eyes darted around the room, surveying the walls of books and gazing out of the window. He glanced at her, gave her a very noticeable once-over, and grinned, teeth a white flash.

"Captain James T. Kirk," she said slowly as she opened the file, pen secure against her palm. "Newly appointed captain of the starship USS Enterprise. This was your third and final year."

He nodded and leaned back in the chair, legs crossed at the knee and body tilted to one side. "That was the plan, yeah."

"And you know why you're here?"

"Starfleet insists that my ship's crew undergo therapy while repairs are being completed." His hands flexed again.

"How do you feel about that?"

He laughed. "Are you serious? Doctor Sweetseed, let's be real. You've got my file. You know this isn't going to work."

She fingered the edge of the thick file, the pages making a crisp noise as they flicked past. There were at least a dozen psychological assessments, from before and after he enlisted. Some were marked with a large, red stamp reading RELEASED BY PATIENT. These were dated back ten, fifteen years. Others were aptitude tests, psych evaluations he did upon enlistment, and professor remarks after course completions. The earliest ones labeled him borderline sociopathic. The later ones called him driven.

"You want to be 'real,' Captain?"

"Real is my middle name," he replied, grinning toothily. "Well, aside from Tiberius."

"Then drop the act," she said sharply, closing the file with a snap. "You aren't fooling me and I'd be surprised if anyone who knew you for more than thirty seconds was buying it at all."

He stilled, very suddenly. "Okay," he said, and uncrossed his legs. Feet flat on the floor, back straight, hands on the arms of the chair. Still and posed, he looked powerful. Laura suppressed a shiver and wondered how anyone had figured him a lost cause. "Don't treat me with kid gloves, doc." His eyes flashed in the low light of the office. "You and I both know that's really, really not going to work."

"Deal," she agreed, and leaned back in her own chair, eyes watching him sharply. Her hands began to toy with the pen once more, elbows propped up on the arms of her seat. "What do you want to tell me?"

His eyes narrowed appreciatively. "You don't want more than I can give. I like that." He cleared his throat and glanced away, eyes flicking out of the window, before coming back to meet hers. "I did what I had to do. What I felt was best," he asserted quietly, voice soft and loud at once.

"The mission report mentioned that you and Commander Spock came to blows."

He blinked, though no other muscle twitched. "I did what I had to do," he repeated. "Commander Spock was emotionally compromised. After managing to escape Delta Vega, I knew I had to provoke Mr. Spock into displaying emotion." He swallowed. "I did what I felt was best."

"So, it was ego? If Spock stepped down, you knew you would be made captain."

"No!" he snapped, jaw ticking. "I did what I had to do, what was best for all of us. I knew that every second we lost trying to rendezvous with the fleet meant Earth was that much closer to a fate like that of Vulcan."

His voice sounded funny there, she noted, and filed that away. "But you still knew you'd be captain."

"Pike made me first officer. I didn't know that would happen. I wasn't supposed to be on the ship in the first place. If Doctor McCoy hadn't stowed me onboard, all of this would have ended differently." His hands pressed into the fabric of the chair, small impressions appearing under his fingers.

She switched tacks. "How did you know that riling up Spock, a Vulcan, would be effective?"

Jim glanced out of the window, watched as the Golden Gate Bridge lit up, the pinpricks of light twinkling as the fog moved into the harbor. "Vulcans feel," he said simply, voice thick. "He had just lost his planet, doc." His gaze swiveled to meet hers. She bit back a gasp; his eyes were glassy and startlingly blue, even in the relative darkness of the office. It felt like being physically struck. "Of course he was emotionally compromised. Who wouldn't be?" He turned his gaze to the window once more, eyes blinking rapidly. She watched him for a moment, then turned to look out of the window also.

"The bridge looks so pretty at night," she commented neutrally.

"Yes," he half-whispered. "It does."

They sat in silence for the rest of the hour, the only sound the rain pattering against the glass.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "If you just set people in motion they'll heal themselves." --Gabrielle Roth
> 
> 2\. Written in chat with [](http://tenebris.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tenebris.livejournal.com/)**tenebris**. Largely unbeta'ed, save for a cursory tense check. Thank you for giving me real-time feedback. ilu, bb. ♥
> 
> 3\. Originally, this story was meant to be an examination of Kirk. Instead, it became a crew-wide study. Mostly because Spock decided he needed therapy, too. (Or, rather, head!Starfleet decided Spock did. idek.) And then everyone needed therapy.
> 
> 4\. Laura Sweetseed is based a little bit on a similarly-named psychotherapist on Bones.


End file.
